


Fear of Flight

by centreoftheselights



Series: Learning to Fly [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (both physical and emotional), Acceptance, Accepting Anxiety Rewrite, Alternate Universe - Wings, Anxiety, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood and Injury, Broken wing, Crash Landing, Declaration of (Platonic) Love, Emotional Confrontation, Episode: Accepting Anxiety, Feeling Unwanted, First Flight, Gen, Growing Feathers, Growing Wings, Hiding Wings, Hurt/Comfort, Learning to Fly, Passing Out, Pre-Episode: Accepting Anxiety, Running Away, canon AU, flight, friendship confession, keeping secrets, magical healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23653516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centreoftheselights/pseuds/centreoftheselights
Summary: Light Sides have wings. Virgil is becoming a Light Side. It's not the easiest process.
Relationships: Platonic LAMP
Series: Learning to Fly [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736752
Comments: 33
Kudos: 389
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Centreoftheselights' Bad Things Happen Bingo 2020





	Fear of Flight

**Author's Note:**

> One of my [Bad Things Happen Bingo prompts](https://potestessemagishomosexualitatis.tumblr.com/tagged/bad-things-happen-bingo):
> 
> "DAMAGED WINGS DAMAGED WINGS DAMAGED WINGS something (or /someone/) happened when Virgil officially left the dark sides and his wings are damaged and now he can't fly (happy ending optional: the light sides comforting him and accepting him even tho he thinks he's broken)"
> 
> I put a minor twist on this (I don't really like writing unsymp!characters) so I hope you like it! I came up with so much background writing this, let me know on Tumblr if you want the director's commentary. **ETA:** [posted here](https://potestessemagishomosexualitatis.tumblr.com/post/615409580282888192/p-hi-im-the-anon-that-did-the-damaged-wings).
> 
> Warning: some description of itching, a brief but intense injury description.

When Virgil first found the growths on his shoulders – two strangely symmetrical bony lumps that had appeared from nowhere overnight – he spent a frantic half-hour on WebMD and convinced himself that he was suffering from terminal bone cancer.

Then he realised what was actually going on, which was a thousand times worse.

It was all Thomas's fault. Him and that stupid Q&A video – the one where he'd _summoned_ Virgil, asked him to _stick around_. Thomas was starting to treat Virgil like he was welcome, like he was wanted, and that meant the mindscape was starting to act as though he were –

As though he were a Light Side. He was starting to grow wings.

They wouldn't be like the others', of course. Wouldn't be short and rounded and brightly coloured, like Morality's blue-tit wings, or slim and graceful and dark with pale speckles, like Logic's sparrow-like plumage. They definitely wouldn't be huge and powerful and pure white like Princey's swan wings, the ones that Virgil had always steered well clear of for fear that Creativity might strike him with them.

No, at best Virgil would have some half-compromise. Dark Creativity was the only one of the Others with wings, a relic of his strange history with his Light twin, and his weren't bird wings at all, but hooked and leathery and scaled like a dragon. Virgil would probably grow bat wings, something suitably dark and creepy, a sign of the halfway-acceptance into Thomas's psyche that allowed him to stay without ever being truly wanted.

That would be fine. He could handle that.

#

Virgil could not handle this.

Over the course of several weeks the bones of his wings had grown in fully, and now he was _fledging_. The first feathers had started coming in just after his debate with Logic, and now they were everywhere, covering his back in a fine coat of down.

And it itched _so bad_. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of little scratchy points, each covered in tickly fluffy barbs that got absolutely _everywhere_. They stuck to the inside of his clothes and got in his mouth when he slept and clogged up the shower drain in a damp, sticky mass every morning.

And it was even worse when he had to go out. Because he had to keep the wings hidden, tucked tight against his back under his hoodie so none of the other sides could see, where they got stiff and sweaty and _so so itchy_ and – ugh, the moment he got the chance he ducked out, back to his room where he could strip off his shirt and stretch out his wings, trying desperately to smooth out the ruffled feathers as best he could.

He'd been spending as much time as possible in his room. Not that he didn't always – because of course, nothing had changed, and it's not like he would _go_ to movie night even if Patton – Morality – did keep asking him…

Okay, maybe he had considered it. But only because – well, Patton must know how to groom himself, right? And Virgil could use a hand with that. With how cramped his wings got under the hoodie, he was worried that the mature pin feathers that were starting to grow in might get damaged, and then he wouldn't ever be able to fly –

But that was a stupid idea. He couldn't ask Morality without telling Morality about his wings, and Morality would tell the others and then they'd all know about this mistake the mindscape had made, giving him something he has no right to. And if they knew, they would… well, Virgil doesn't know what they'd do, but he could picture plenty of terrifying possibilities.

And as for flying, he couldn't do that in his room. He'd have to go into the imagination to have enough space, and there Creativity would be able to track him down in no time.

No, he couldn't possibly let the Light Sides know his secret. And that meant Virgil was never going to have the chance to fly.

#

The day he finished fledging was the day Virgil realised how wrong this all was.

He stood in front of his mirror, inspecting his wings. They were broad and black and surprisingly strong. A raven's wings, he thought, or maybe a crow's, with a faint iridescent sheen to the newly-unfurled feathers. They suited him.

And they were awful.

He had been trying to ignore what this meant throughout the whole process, but now he had to face it. The mindscape had all but declared him a permanent fixture in Thomas's life – and what did that mean for Thomas? What had Virgil ever done, except make his life more of a hassle than it needed to be?

And now he was a full-fledged Light Side – damn, Patton would have loved that one – equal to any of them. But he _shouldn't be there_. Next to Morality, or Logic, or Creativity, who would want something like Anxiety around, bringing down the mood? Virgil might have tricked Thomas into thinking he was harmless, but he knew better.

His job was to keep Thomas safe. That included from himself. And if Thomas wasn't going to push him away any more, then Virgil would do it for him – slip away, back to the Others, back to where he _belonged_ , before he could do any more damage.

The brave thing to do would be to say goodbye before he went. But Virgil had never been brave, so…

The purpose of the Chasm of Endless Oblivion was simple. It separated the bright, sunny plateau that was Thomas's conscious daydreams from the dark and foggy forests of the subconscious that surrounded it. And it could only be crossed by creatures who could fly, which kept the pesky “Dark Sides” from being able to intrude unexpected – well, except for Dark Creativity, but nothing could really stop him from popping in at unwanted moments.

So the plan was simple. All Virgil had to do was fly across the canyon and disappear back into the subconscious, letting his presence fade out of Thomas's life like a bad dream. His room would reappear back on the Other Side of the mindscape, and he could go back to how his life used to be, back before Thomas ever knew he existed.

 _Of course_ , he thought as he stood on top of the cliffs, staring down at the precipitous drop, _that might be easier_ _to achieve_ _if he had_ ever _flown before_.

He cautiously stretched open his wings – the first time he had ever fully stretched them out, there wasn't space inside his room. As the wind caught them, he stumbled backwards, flapping them instinctively as he tried to catch himself.

 _Huh_ , he thought. _You know what, maybe this isn't such a good_ –

And that was when a sudden gust of wind caught him from behind, knocking him clean over the edge.

Virgil experienced a single, eternity-long moment of freefall – _oh fuck I'm falling I'm going to die_ – before his wings snapped into action, fighting to right him and pull him back on course. It happened entirely on instinct, but suddenly he wasn't falling any more – he was _flying_ , his body arcing effortlessly across the sky.

Virgil had never felt such pure joy. It was as though all his problems had been left on the ground and he was finally free. He swooped upwards, letting an updraft carry him easily over the far side of the Chasm, and then he was soaring over the misty forests below. Finally the thoughts in his head were silent, and he was alone and at peace.

“Hey there! You! Stop!”

Strike that. Glancing over his shoulder, Virgil saw the silhouette of Roman rapidly closing in on him, with Patton and Logan following behind. They had seen him! Did they recognise him, or had they mistaken him for a figment, one of Remus's bad dreams? Not that that was so far from the truth…

Virgil had to get out of sight, and fast, but there was no way to lose them except the trees. He dived down quickly, drawing his wings in close –

That was a big mistake.

The forest was completely unlike the wide open sky. The trees were more densely packed than he'd realised, and his wings were broad and cumbersome. He tried to dodge, weaving among branches, but he had never practised this before, and he was flying so fast – much faster than he'd realised from above. He tried frantically to slow down, his wings flaring out wide, only to realise that the tree in front of him was far closer than he'd thought –

…

The moment of the crash was nothing but searing pain. It felt as though something had yanked him out of the sky, sending him tumbling like a rag doll across the forest floor.

He passed out for a few moments, perhaps longer. When he came back to himself, his first thought was that the searing pain in his right wing was so great that it must be gone, torn off completely by the force of the impact. He couldn't really process that thought – couldn't process anything, except the fact that it _hurt_ , it hurt _so bad_.

He blinked open his eyes. He was surprised to realise that his wing was still there, crushed underneath the weight of his body. As he slowly pushed himself up, however, the wing drooped down, bending at an unnatural angle. He couldn't move it at all – it was nothing but dead weight.

“Anxiety! Anxiety?”

There were voices calling in the distance. The Light Sides? Probably, unless one of the Others had seen him fall. Either way, they were far from a safe bet. Anyone who found him now would see the wings, and he had no way of knowing how they would react. He was weak; if they were angry with him, he wouldn't be able to defend himself.

Virgil stared at the damaged wing, its black feathers ruffled and mud-stained. In a few patches, the feathers were darkly wet, sodden with fresh blood. It was so broken, so completely useless. Was it even worth trying to fight it at this point? There might be miles still to walk before he passed through the forest and into the Other Realm. Perhaps he should simply stay here, lie down in the forest and let the exhaustion claim him, wait for the fog of the subconscious to eat away at him until he too was nothing but mist.

A spike of fear burst through him. _No_. Virgil didn't want to disappear, he didn't want this to be his final memory.

“H-help!” he called out, his voice frustratingly weak. “I'm here! Help me!”

There was no answer.

With a snarl, Virgil pushed himself to his knees, and then to his feet. The rush of pain almost made him pass out again, and he bit his lip, trying to force himself to stay conscious. He couldn't walk with one wing dragging along the ground, so he gathered it in his arms, trying to cradle it as carefully as possible to prevent any more damage.

“Help!” he called again, walking in the direction of the voices he had heard. His terror leant deep echoes to his voice, which rumbled through the silence of the forest. “Help me! Please! Help, I –”

He stumbled over a branch on the ground, dropping to his knees again with a hiss of pain. Panting, he tried to catch his breath and summon the strength to get up and keep walking, when –

“Anxiety?”

The tall figure of Creativity – Roman – emerged from the mist ahead of him. Virgil blinked up at him. His vision was blurry and dark – when had the fog gotten thicker?

“Please,” he gasped. “Help me.”

“Anxiety, I –”

Virgil saw the prince start to rush forward, and then everything went black.

#

When Virgil woke, he was in a bright room. He was lying on his side on a bed, his wings stretched out behind him, the right one still aching dully. Someone was holding one of his hands.

As he opened his eyes, he saw Morality sat in a chair at his bedside, his hand tucked in Virgil's own. Virgil stiffened, and Patton looked up immediately.

“Kiddo?” he asked softly. Then, only a little louder: “Logan! Roman! He's waking up.”

Virgil pulled his hand back, his breathing getting quicker. What were they coming here for – they'd seen his wings, he had to move –

He started trying to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his shoulder blades.

“Please, don't try to move.” Logan had hurried through the door. “Your right wing has suffered multiple fractures, and it does not appear to be healing.”

Virgil frowned, twisting around to look – and immediately regretting it. In the mindscape, everyone was imaginary – most injuries healed themselves in a couple of hours, perhaps a week if it was something that would have killed a real human. That his wings weren't healing… It could only be a sign that something is seriously wrong.

That he was never meant to have them in the first place.

“What are you going to do about them?”

“The fractures?” Logan asked, breezily. “I've immobilised the wing as best as I can, and I took the liberty of supplying a painkiller that will not affect your cognitive abilities –”

“No,” Virgil interrupted. “I mean – what are you going to do about the wings?”

Roman cleared his throat. He was stood in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest.

“How long have you had them?” he asked, his voice disconcertingly quiet.

Virgil bit his lip, considering whether it was worth lying – but no.

“A few months,” he answered quickly. Patton gasped. “They started growing in after the Q&A video, but I only finished fledging yesterday, I'd never flown before, I swear –”

“That was your first flight?” Patton echoed. “The Chasm of Endless Oblivion is a heck of a place for a flying lesson, kiddo!”

Virgil frowned at him.

“Yeah, well. It wasn't a lesson, I was leaving. I knew it was too much, so I figured I should just – go back to the Other Realm, and stop getting in you guys' way.”

The Light Sides all went very quiet. Probably regretting following him, now that they realised they could have been rid of him by now.

Virgil gritted his teeth, and looked the prince straight in the eye.

“So, can you get rid of them?”

Creativity looked startled. “What?”

“The wings. Can you –” Virgil mimicked Princey's typically flamboyant gestures – “And make them go away?”

“I – well, perhaps I could shapeshift them away for a time, but that might not be the best plan while you're injured –”

He glanced sidelong at Logic, who shook his head.

“We don't know how the injury might translate across a change in form. Although it may seem cumbersome, they will heal faster if you allow yourself to rest –”

“Why would you want them to heal?” Virgil snapped, and Logic fell silent. “It seems pretty straightforward to me. I wasn't meant to have them in the first place, and now they're useless, so just – just get rid of them, and drop me off in the Other Realm.”

“No!” Patton burst out. “Anxiety, kiddo, you can't leave! You belong here!”

He looked to the others for support.

“He's correct,” Logan said. “In the time you were absent from Thomas's consciousness, I recorded a sudden drop in his motivation and awareness of potential hazards, which I believe is attributable to sub-optimal levels of anxiety –”

Oh, that explained it. Thomas needed him around to function properly.

“Okay, then I'll just – I'll stay in my room, or whatever. That's not the point!”

The others were frowning at him.

“Then… what _is_ the point?” Logan asked.

Virgil sighed.

“I can't _keep_ these wings,” he explained slowly. “You guys earned the right to fly because you're the best parts of Thomas, you're central to who he is. That just… isn't me. And if it is, it shouldn't be. Wings are for lifting you up, and all I do is bring everyone down.”

Roman cleared his throat. He was still standing by the door, and he'd been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. He didn't seem as sure as himself as usual.

“If I may?” he began. “Anxiety… when I found you, you were covered in blood and when you collapsed – for a second, I thought I was too late. That you were… well.” Roman broke off, his composure cracking for a moment. “And I realised then how much I regretted the way I've treated you. You have become a part of this group, a part of Thomas's central functions, and you have worked so hard to keep all of us safe, even when we tried our hardest to ignore you. Those wings are a part of your true form now, and I cannot take them from you – but even if I could, I would not. You are a central part of Thomas, and you have earned the right to the skies.”

Virgil blinked heavily, tears swelling in his eyes.

“I – oh.”

“I concur fully,” Logan added. “There is no functional difference in status between you and the rest of us, and your form should reflect that truth.”

“Your wings are beautiful, kiddo,” Patton said. “Just like the rest of you.”

Virgil swallowed hard.

“I. Uh. Even if I can't fly any more?”

“Of _course_ ,” Roman said, so passionately that Virgil had no choice but to believe him.

“Besides.” Logan cleared his throat, then gave a small smile. “I wouldn't worry about that.”

He gestured at Virgil's back, which he was shocked to realise no longer hurt. As he craned his head around, he realised the wing was no longer bent out of shape. He sat up, stretching it out experimentally – it had healed, as good as new.

“I would recommend a few weeks' rest and recovery before attempting to fly again –” Logan began.

“Oh, there are so many places I want to show you!” Roman said, cutting across him. “The impossible mountain! The castle of the clouds! The dragon nests!”

Virgil was distracted from hearing any more by Patton barrelling into him in a fierce hug, his small, rounded wings folding around Virgil's shoulders.

“I'm so glad you're okay, kiddo!” he whispered. “Oh, I can't wait to go flying with you!”

Virgil smiled into Patton's shoulder as his tears finally began to fall.

“Me either, Pat,” he said softly. “And, uh…

“Call me Virgil.”


End file.
